The Rising Darkness I: The Fading Light
by Basilisk9466
Summary: Five long years have passed since the death of a world... but for the six beings that helped to end the reign of Tartarus, there will be no peace. The darkness is rising... Sequel to the Hades Chronicles. Will make no sense without them!


_Five years have passed since the ancient computer Tartarus was destroyed at the hands of seven creatures of three different races. The six survivors have passed onto their own lives, the horrors of planet Hades, and the strange friendships made, mere memories._

_The Yautja siblings, Othar'a and Kal'Arak'e returned to their homeworld with the news of the destruction of Hades and the deaths of many youngbloods and an Elder of the Tjau'ke Thwei. The dark secret that was discovered on Hades concerning the past of the Yautja they kept secret._

_The two creatures that were once humans named Elizabeth Kail and Holly Chance, transformed into the ultimate killing machine by the marvels of human science, have vanished beyond all efforts of their friends to locate them. Their fates remain a mystery to their one-time companions, but it is likely that they still live._

_And the only humans to survive the destruction of the warship **Asphodel**, Elysa and Tyrion Varbolt returned to civilisation to a mixed welcome…_

LOCATION: ANTARES SYSTEM, NEAR ANTARES THETA

The **Legacy** slid noiselessly through the vacuum of its surroundings. Even on board the vessel, only the gentle humming of electronics disturbed the calm.

The computer considered the situation, and decided to rouse the group of people hidden away within the depths of the Conestoga-class starship.

The hypersleep capsules shut down and opened, ejecting their occupants into the real world.

The freighter carried thirty assorted personnel, with room for two hundred more. A mixture of Colonial Marines, mercenaries and one or two who fitted into their own category.

The two who fitted most glaringly into this last were also the last to be brought out of hypersleep.

As they emerged from the capsules, a dull murmur flooded through the already active room.

"Who are they?"

"Some kind of specialists."

"Specialists at getting turned into bug food, I'll bet. Look at them, barely in their twenties!"

"Cute girl, though."

"You WOULD think that, wouldn't you?"

Elysa and Tyrion Varbolt tuned out the whispered commentary. They'd faced it enough times before. It wasn't something that was going to change while the government kept them as a 'special branch'.

It said a lot about governments in general. The loose-knit Confederation of Human Planets that had risen after the death of Earth had lived through the nightmares of Alien infection there. Even now, Alien infections were everywhere. And they wanted to keep their two best 'bug-hunters' as a secret.

"All right, people!" called out the CO of the Antares mission. "We'll hit Antares Theta in thirty minutes. I want you all up, about and ready to drop when we get there! Heads will roll if we're late!"

Elysa looked briefly at the officer in question and sighed. Fresh out of the Confederate Military Services – CMS – officer training corps. When it came to a firefight against Xenos, those types went one of two ways. They either bowed down to superior experience and survived, or went in full of themselves and usually died pretty quickly.

Even now, the assorted organisations that had been integrated into the CMS were stretched thin. Earth had taken a lot out of all concerned, and even five years later new infections somehow brought by refugees from what little remained of the planet were being discovered.

Not to mention the fact that they sometimes seemingly appeared from nowhere. With CMS troopers being sent to check out every false alarm across a two-hundred system area, not to mention clearing new possible colonies, it was a miracle that they managed to deal with the real infections.

Which was why the CMS bigwigs were so glad to have her and her brother around. They might only be two people, but they hadn't yet failed to destroy Alien infections on ten missions over the past four years. A heady record for the times.

"I'll grab something to eat, see you in the loading bay," she said to Tyrion, who nodded absently. Putting on the sunglasses she always wore in public, she strolled off.

She wondered through the **Legacy**'s corridors with the ease of someone who has spent a lot of time on it. She hadn't, but she had spent a lot of time on Conestoga-class. Not to mention the newer Halberd-class cruisers, the small Vermillion-class transports…

Too much time.

Absorbed in her thoughts, she almost ran into one of her fellow soldiers, a mercenary by the look of it.

"Sorry," she said.

The mercenary smiled unpleasantly. "So you're some kind of specialist, are you?"

Elysa noticed that there were several other assorted grunts floating around. She'd seen this before. Picking on the weak link to see what would happen.

She grinned toothily at the merc, and removed the shades.

The merc leapt backwards several foot at the sight of the all-black eyes, with no trace of iris or whites.

"What the f*** happened to your eyes?" he demanded.

"A long story, involving a lot of pain and an Alien," she said casually. "Here's the deal – you pester me, you get to see what other tricks I've got up my sleeve. Spread it around so I don't have to repeat myself, ok?" She reached into a nearby cupboard, and removed several slices of the omnipresent cornbread. With two fingers, she slowly, deliberated crumpled a slice into a fine powder and threw it at the sweating merc before leaving the room.

The familiar muttering sounded behind her.

"What the hell was that? She ain't human, man!"

"Don't be stupid. If she isn't human, why does she look like one?"

"You didn't see her eyes! Nothing has eyes like that!"

The words faded away, and she sighed again. She had been accurate, of course. That accident involving Yautja medicine and Alien DNA had rendered her half-and-half, giving her her jet-black eyes and limited ability to tap into the Hive mind.

What she had been hiding from Tyrion was that it was slowly getting more serious. She was getting stronger, and on the last mission when a drone had clawed her, her blood had not been pure red. There had been flecks of yellow, and it had smoked gently when it touched her clothing. Both traits had developed since that business with Tartarus, without the aid of Yautja regenerative fluids.

Tyrion wouldn't like it if he found out, she knew. She remembered his words when she developed black eyes… "Perhaps it would be best if you tried to steer clear of that healing fluid in future, eh? I'd prefer it if you didn't change too much on me." Everyone had laughed, but she knew that he had been half serious. Having heard what had happened to Spiketail, he was worried about losing his sister to a ravening killing machine. She doubted that the changes she was undergoing would extend to a full body-change, like the retrovirus that had changed Shadow, Spiketail and Talon, but he would worry about it.

She bit into the cornbread, and sighed again. Something else that was changing. Her sense of taste was going out the window, becoming generally duller. The only exception had been on the last mission – a particularly nasty knock had had her spitting blood.

The taste of it had been like… she paused. It had been vibrant. The taste equivalent of a strobe light, perhaps.

It was something that matched with what she had learned from Spiketail and Shadow back on Hades. Xenomorphs disliked carrion intensely – theoretically, their digestive systems could handle anything that was thrown at them, but live or fresh meat was the best. Something about giving an instant energy boost and telling the Xeno in question something about their prey.

She entered the loading bay. Two UD-4H Cheyenne dropships and two M577 APCs dominated it, the assorted soldiers and crew swarming around the vehicles like flies, or maybe ants. Two standard P-5000 power loaders were picking up equipment and placing it into one of the dropships, while the single MPA-6000 'Alice' combat power suit slowly walked from one end of the bay to the other, testing the various systems.

On one side, the impromptu armoury was located. A mixture of pulse rifles, combat shotguns, flamethrowers, a few smartguns, and a single M-90 portable minigun. Although the weapons were stacked fairly randomly, there was no doubt that the soldiers coming to the area and picking out their personal arsenals knew exactly who each gun belonged to.

Elysa strolled over to the pile, and picked out her three weapons. A standard pulse rifle, a small pistol, and a final weapon that stood out dramatically from everything else.

Instead of the general greyish that most of the other guns were, this one was a more bronzy colour. The grip was fairly hefty, apparently designed for larger hands, and the barrel was short and did not extend beyond the grip. A small display on the back was placed so that a quick glance could give an idea of the remaining ammunition. Instead of standard digits, however, there was a system of lines.

Picking up a set of grenades and ammo clips, she sat back in a quiet corner to check her arsenal. For the first two, this consisted of dismantling them, cleaning the components, and locking them back together. For the last, it consisted of glancing over it and hoping that nothing had gone wrong.

She swore silently at her lack of knowledge at the weapon. It had become a favourite back on Hades, and had served her well. Othar'a had told her to keep it when they came to the colony that they had parted on, and she had thought nothing more of it. So far the 'plasma pistol' had worked perfectly, and all she could do was hope that it maintained itself. Though she doubted that, considering the Yautja obsession with keeping equipment in perfect condition with regular checks.

She glanced over at Tyrion, who was checking and rechecking his somewhat temperamental flamethrower. At least his memento of the Yautja was less technical than hers. His speargun was just a hydraulic pump, as far as she could tell. The only problem was ammunition; Kal'Arak'e had kindly given him a spare rack of spear-darts at their parting, but it wasn't always possible to retrieve the precious barbed projectiles.

The loudspeaker boomed out over the loading bay, informing all those that cared to listen that there were fifteen minutes to drop.

"Boys and girls, over here!" called out the officer.

Elysa gave the man another look. Lieutenant Simmons, that was it. She thought about the profile she had been given before getting rushed onto the **Legacy**; 'no combat experience' being the main point.

The troops sauntered over. The veterans seemed to have come to the same conclusion as her, and were standing with an ever-so-slightly disrespectful stance. Rookies were standing at crisp attention, anticipation gleaming in their eyes.

"As you'll probably have guessed, we're playing tag with the bugs again," said Simmons. Elysa noted the use of slang. A good sign, not indicative of an irritating rule-stickler. They didn't last long.

"What you won't know is that this is for real. I know that the CMS have been sending us out on lots of red herrings, but Xenomorphs have definitely been sighted and deaths have occurred. How big the infection is, we don't know, and we've been out of the loop concerning current status. That's the main reason why we're dropping now. When we get to the surface, expect to face them pretty quickly." He paused for breath. "You'll see that we have two late arrivals to the team – Special Agents Elysa and Tyrion Varbolt. They may not look like much, but they're the closest thing the CMS has to bug-hunter special forces. The briefing didn't say much, but it did say to trust their judgement implicitly when we're in the field. Questions?"

"We taking Alice, sir?" piped up a small, geeky looking private wearing a USM uniform.

"The MPA-6000 will be on the dropship, but we won't be deploying it until we have a better idea of the situation. The APC will provide our fire support to begin with."

"What are the teams?" asked the merc that Elysa had frightened.

Simmons decided to ignore the slight in failing to say 'sir'. "We'll split into two twelve-man squads and one six-man reserve team. I'll take the reserves, and we'll monitor from the APC, ready to give support where needed. Sergeant Milson, you have team one. Corporal Henriks, you have team two. Our two Agents will join team one. Clear?"

"Sir, why are they being placed together?" asked Milson. Elysa studied him – a veteran who clearly didn't like the idea of not being in charge. "Surely it would be better if they acted separately?"

"We work best together," said Elysa. "You'll see when we're in the field."

"What about terrain?"

"That's the best bit," said Simmons dryly. "Underground mining facilities. We'll have the APC for the first few sections, but the surface is mostly uninhabitable."

The **Legacy** shuddered as the engines reversed thrust, slowing it down as the huge ship entered orbit of Antares Theta.

"That's our cue, gentlemen! Let's get this show on the road!"

***

The dropship screamed through the atmosphere of Antares Theta like a banshee, to the accompaniment of the usual whoops and shrieks from the soldiers within.

Elysa tuned it out, concentrating on her inner ears. The moment they had entered orbit, she had felt a faint brushing against her mind.

There was no doubt about it. This planet had Aliens on it.

She strained her mind, trying to pick out where the sources were, but as always, her gift evaded her. The moment she tried to concentrate on it, it faded…

The blistering velocity levelled off as the Cheyenne pulled out of its dive. The brushing became stronger, and faint images painted themselves across her mind's eye.

Getting closer.

She focused on the images, trying to get a sensation of the creature transmitting them. A sense of power flooded through her from the images, as though what sent them could do anything… Queen.

Damn.

Strange though it seemed, she had never come face to face with a Queen. Ever. It seemed impossible, considering that she had faced at least twelve hives in her time with the CMS, but fate had always contrived to take her away from the central player of the great game.

She thought back to her time on Hades. Memories of the descriptions of Spineback, the Queen who had taken over the **Charon** Hive, came to her, but she had never met the creature. Luckily, given Shadow's morbid accounts of her temperament.

She had sensed Queens from afar before, but had never come near them. She had always managed to pinpoint their location, and the dropship would soon afterwards make a strike on the nest.

Not an option here. Not with the settlements and hives underground.

"All right boys and girls, we're here. Last stop on the line, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to get off here. Horizon spaceport. Enjoy your stay…"

The dropship bounced on some hard surface for a moment, and then the APC roared into life.

It barrelled down the ramp and came to a neat stop. Behind them, the growl of the dropship's engines faded as it took off towards space.

At least that was something that people had learned. You never leave your only means of escape on the ground.

The doors of the APC slammed open, and the soldiers swarmed out.

The gentle brushing became stronger, and the images came faster. Interspersed were simple feelings, intentions…

Deadly intentions. There were drones nearby. Lots of them.

"Break out the motion trackers," said Milson curtly.

The soft repeated 'click' of the devices filled the air.

"Nothing. I think we're clear."

"No," said Elysa. "They're here. About…" She entered the lazy trance that seemed to stimulate her abilities. "Twelve of them. All around us. More are on the way."

"How the hell do you know that?" said the merc doubtfully.

"Trust me."

There was a slightly awkward pause.

"All right, we'll advance cautiously," said Simmons. "Teams one and two, stick together and advance into the complex."

The soldiers moved, flicking on lamps to penetrate the almost tangible darkness.

The senses changed. The images suddenly had a different tone. Elysa relaxed, and tried to pick them apart.

The images described journeys, and had a slightly decisive tone. Orders from the Queen.

Trouble was, without knowing the spaceport, she didn't have a clue where the drones were being moved to.

Something different. There was a flash of bloodlust over the link, again, an order.

Elysa tensed, opened her mouth to give a warning…

A door just ahead of them smashed open, and three drones leapt forwards. She fired a spray of pulse rifle fire, killing two and grazing the third.

The wounded one shrieked, and pounced for Milson. The sergeant snapped out of his shock at the speed of the attack, and fired a shotgun round straight into the monster's skull. It collapsed, twitching.

There was silence apart from the hissing of acid on metal.

"Nice reactions, Miss Varbolt," said Milson shakily. "If you hadn't slowed them there…"

Elysa nodded, and returned to monitoring the hive link.

There was anger, but it vanished quickly. What did a few drones matter?

Images came fast now. Too fast for her to separate; all she knew was that something big was being organised. She pondered on what it would be like to live with that all the time, and suddenly snapped back to the present.

An image had been sent directly to her. There was no doubt about it. The sensation was stronger, the image more vivid, the feeling more focused.

It was an image of an egg chamber. The image moved through it, looking over the eggs and the vicious creatures they contained.

To the walls. Unfortunate hosts were entombed there, all already dead.

One of them seemed familiar.

It was Tyrion. Still moving. Shrieking. Blood spurting. The parasite within emerging…

The image faded, and she crumpled abruptly.

"Elysa!" hissed Tyrion.

She groaned as the real world asserted itself over the nightmare. "I'm all right. The Queen tried to warn me off."

Tyrion blinked. "I thought you said that the hives couldn't detect the fact that you listen in."

"I thought they couldn't," snapped Elysa. "Either I was wrong or something has changed. What are you looking at?"

The three or four troopers who had been staring at her lowered their gaze.

Tyrion hesitated. He hadn't seen her like for a long time. Whatever the Queen had done had shaken her badly. "Are you all right to go on?"

He mentally ducked as she spun angrily. "Of course I am! Some overgrown insect isn't going to scare me off!"

She relaxed. Tyrion hadn't meant anything by his question. Just concerned. She tuned back into the hive mind, readied for a new assault.

The Queen had had her say, though. No more messages came through to her, just the blizzard of organisation.

It stopped, and the Queen became silent. All that was left were the little flashes of location from the drones.

Then even those stopped. The constant buzz she had felt since arriving on the planet faded to an eerie mental silence.

She withdrew from the hive link, and tried something new. Spiketail had once mentioned that Xenos could sense each other from the location of their minds, or something like that. She had never managed it before, but the fact that this Queen had detected her suggested that her ability had progressed…

There! A faint flicker of movement that she had felt, not seen. Ten metres away, dead ahead.

"There's one directly ahead of us," she said.

The soldiers learned fast. Weapons were brought to bear and fingers tightened on triggers.

There was a large blast door before them. A control panel glowed weakly to one side, the light seeming bright in the gloomy corridor.

Milson made a rapid series of hand gestures, and the soldiers crouched, aiming at the door. The sergeant moved to the panel, and counted down on his fingers.

As the last finger went down, he pressed the 'open' button the panel.

The door slid upwards, and the Aliens struck.

Elysa swore mentally as swarms of them poured through the door. Obviously she had only detected a large group of them, not a single drone. The rapid purr of pulse rifle fire battled with the screeching of dying Aliens, joined by the thud of shotguns and the growl of the minigun.

The attack stopped as quickly as it had started. The last few drones slipped into the shadows, leaving the corridor filled with acrid smoke from the corrosive blood.

"Only one, eh?" said the merc snappishly.

"Clamp it, soldier," replied Milson before Elysa could respond. "If she hadn't said anything, we'd probably be bug food."

The merc grunted, and moved forwards through the blast door, M-90 panning across the passage.

The group moved forward.

"Team one and two, do you copy?"

Simmons' voice seemed unnecessarily loud in the headsets.

"We read you, Lieutenant," said Milson.

"Sergeant, we just managed to make contact with the survivors. Currently they're stuck in the town hall, in the central underground level. There's a vehicle lift to take the APC down there which they're giving us instructions for reaching. You're ordered to continue to the main underground level – we'll rendezvous there."

"Copy that, Lieutenant. We'll see you there."

Milson turned around to his troops. "You heard the man. Let's get moving!"

He turned to take point.

The air vents above them crashed inwards, and the second wave of Aliens struck.

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The merc was the first to die, a drone snapping his neck with a perfunctory movement. His killer joined him in the grave a moment later as it was engulfed in a blast from a flamethrower.

Then there was no time to focus on others' battles, as they were too busy surviving. Elysa steadily backed away from the melee, firing single shots from the pulse rifle. Full automatic was just as likely to kill a friend as a foe in the chaos here.

A gout of flame erupted from a panicked soldier, and screams came from two USM troopers caught in the blast. Another came, and Elysa wondered fleetingly why the man hadn't stopped. She flicked a glance at the source, and realised that it was reflex, with no thought behind it. There couldn't be, given that the soldier's skull had been crushed.

Three drones dropped from the ceiling, and spotted her. They lunged, claws outstretched.

She killed two with shots to the head. The third dodged, and pounced.

She dropped the pulse rifle and drew her combat knife. Conventional wisdom said that fighting an Alien in close combat was suicide.

Conventional wisdom was usually right, she mused in a detached way, leaping sideways to avoid the drone's attack.

The drone sensed that there was something unusual about its target, and moved more cautiously now.

Screams came from the other soldiers, but she blanked them out. She thought back to what her friends had told her back on Hades…

***

_Five years earlier, shortly prior to locating the Yautja vessel._

"But suppose I _did_ have to fight one of you with a knife?"

[That would be lunacy,] said Shadow dryly.

"Predators manage it," objected Tyrion.

"_That's because we're 'predators',"_ said Othar'a. _"You have neither the strength nor the resilience to fight that sort of battle."_

Spiketail translated the clicking words, and paused. [I don't see why you shouldn't learn a few tricks, though. Yautja can face off against swarms of Aliens. If you were fast – and cunning – a human could potentially kill a single drone.]

Shadow nodded thoughtfully. [You wouldn't stand a chance against something like us that can plan its attack. The weakness in ordinary drones is that they're dumb. Their attacks are very direct; very little subtlety. Unfortunately, they make up for intelligence with brute strength and speed. Your aim has to be to kill it as quickly as possible, because you simply cannot outlast them, even if you can handle our superior strength and speed. Fatigue has no meaning to us, and eventually you _will_ make a mistake.]

[Here,] said Spiketail, tossing Elysa a stick. [If you're so keen to learn, you'd better learn from practice. We can spare a bit of time.]

Elysa picked up the stick, and entered the fighting pose she had learned from the marines on the **_Asphodel_**.

Spiketail lunged. Elysa dodged sideways, trying to catch the Xenomorph on the throat with the stick.

Her arm was battered away by the tail, and she was suddenly staring down the Alien's throat. The inner jaws snapped out, stopping millimetres from Elysa's nose.

Spiketail withdrew. [Nice try. You have the basic idea, but you relied on that strike working. It didn't, and you didn't have a backup. Try this…]

***

Elysa smiled at the memory. That lesson had gone on for an hour, at the end of which Spiketail had grudgingly said that she now stood a better than twenty-five percent chance of surviving.

The drone screeched menacingly, and changed tactics to a slow advance, tail coiled and ready.

So you want to play 'dodge the stinger', eh? Elysa thought mockingly. Bad move. You want to play it slow, I'll play it like _this_…

She rolled sideways, snapped up the pulse rifle, and fired. The drone's head exploded in a spray of acidic flesh.

She looked up, and realised that it was over. Corpses of Alien and human alike were scattered in the corridor. Tyrion walked over and offered her his hand.

She grasped it, and stood up to survey the damage.

Of the twenty-four soldiers, including her and Tyrion, only seven remained. A glance suggested around fifteen dead Aliens.

Not a good ratio.

And it was her fault.

Even if she couldn't sense where the Aliens were in any detail, she should have sensed that they were about to attack. Warned everyone. Maybe then…

Tyrion sighed, seeing the signs of guilt in her eyes. "Elysa, there was nothing you could have done." He pondered his words. "Well, maybe there was, but we all make mistakes! You were shaken up by the Queen's message, your abilities aren't perfect!"

Milson limped over to them. Despite being in the centre of the chaos, he had survived.

"Sound off, men," he called.

"Special Agent Varbolt, T, present and correct," said Tyrion.

"Special Agent Varbolt, E, present and correct."

"PFC Piterson, L, present and correct."

"PFC Wolsan, W, present and wounded, sir," croaked out someone.

"Private Quebec, Y, present and injured."

"Private Skilner, I, present and correct."

Milson visibly crumpled at the ensuing silence before pulling himself together. "Wolsan, Quebec, nature of injuries."

"My arm's lacerated, sir," said Quebec. "I'm stuck to using one hand, I think." Elysa looked at her. Not much older than herself, maybe younger. The arm in question had been slashed into quite deeply, judging by the blood welling through her fingers. Tyrion rummaged in his pack and brought out a bandage before going over.

"One of the bugs ripped me open, sir," came Wolsan's voice weakly.

Elysa and Milson went over to the source. Wolsan hadn't been kidding – his stomach was pumping blood from a massive gash. You didn't need medical training to tell it was fatal.

Milson knelt down. "There's nothing we can do, son. It's too deep. We can't take you with us – we'll have trouble getting to the colony without being slowed down. I'm sorry."

Wolsan nodded weakly, and coughed. The saliva was red. "I understand, sir. Just don't leave me for them alive."

Milson drew his pistol and took careful aim.

"And sir?" Wolsan coughed again. "Send 'em to hell for me."

There was a loud 'crack'. Milson took one last look at the Private's body, and stood up. He spotted Elysa give him one nod of acknowledgement, and turned to the remaining five soldiers.

"We ready to move out?"

"Ready for your order, sir."

"Then let's get out of this hellhole. Tyrion, you and me will take point. Skilner, Piterson, you have rearguard. Elysa, Quebec, centre."

They moved off, not looking back at the abattoir of tortured flesh and blood.

They knew that they would soon become familiar with it in their dreams.

***

There was no hope.

For the creature, anyway.

Othar'a trod carefully, not letting even the smallest twig crack. A _rakay-setg_ was the most dangerous prey on the Yautja homeworld. Not only was it almost twice the height and ten times the bulk of a Yautja, but spikes jutted from its armoured hide at regular intervals. It had no claws, but the massive teeth more than made up for that – three rows of them, the outermost so large that they overlapped its jaws when closed. A club-like tail completed the beast. To take one in single combat, with only close combat weapons, was a feat that all Hunters aspired to.

Othar'a was hoping to make this one her third.

The _rakay-setg_ twitched, and half-rose from its reclining position. She froze, and it slowly relaxed.

The error that many Yautja made was using shiftsuits. Like the _kainde amedha_, however, the _rakay_ could sense electrical signals. So that meant no shiftsuits, no computers… none of the gadgetry that many Hunters secretly adored.

She looked over her shoulder briefly. On a cliff half a kilometre away, a group of Yautja were just visible. Kal'Arak'e and his students. She felt a spark of irritation at the audience, and then let it go. She should be flattered that she was considered good enough to be worth observing.

She continued her stealthy movement. The trick was to attack when directly in front of the creature. Not only did it look more impressive, but the real threat – the tail – was avoided. The _rakay-setg_ was fast, but the jaws were better to brave than that club.

She was almost in position. Luckily the _rakay_ had poor vision, relying on hearing, smell, and electrical senses to spot its prey. Her armour, with its electronic components removed, reduced her bioelectric signature enough to avoid detection until the crucial moment.

She was ready.

The first time she had done this, she had attacked without warning. It had been too easy. Now, in desperate need of a challenge, she let loose a hunting roar.

The _rakay_ leapt to its feet, and focused on her for the first time.

It gave a roar of its own, and charged. She snapped open her wristblades and leapt gracefully onto a nearby rock formation, then onto a low tree branch. Responding with startling speed for such a large creature, the _rakay_ changed course and reared up. Its jaws opened.

With a neat pirouetting motion, she jumped onto the _rakay_'s neck, a spot not guarded with spines. The wristblades plunged into the spinal cord, and the _rakay_ screamed in pain and fury. As its muscles slowly crumpled, it gave one final bellow of defiance before the Yautja sliced its throat open. The struggles slowed, and then stopped.

Still too easy, she thought sadly.

She reached for one of the massive scything teeth, and felt for its root. With a twisting motion, she pulled it free. There was no need to take the creature's skull. She already had two of them, and it seemed cruel to rob the scavengers of any of their prize.

She started moving towards the cliff to recover her equipment, mentally bracing herself for the admiring stares and babbled questions from the Unbloods under her brother's care. How he put up with them was beyond her.

The Elders had requested her to take up training on several occasions, but she had lasted only a week the first time before walking out. They had not been particularly happy, but had understood. Some Yautja valued their solitude. They wouldn't even have asked if it hadn't been for her reputation.

A reputation she wasn't helping, she thought. Or rather, she was, which was the problem.

Perhaps it was time to leave _Yaut'stbi_. Rumours were everywhere that the oomans were being overrun with _kainde amedha_. Little else was discussed at the Clanmeets. Some thought that aid should be offered openly to the _pyode amedha_, others scoffed at the idea of allying with prey. Some thought that the _kainde amedha_ should be brought under control, others believed that it was none of their business.

That was decisions for the clans. The Warriors could do what they wished, free of clan impositions and laws. Some had already gone to the ooman worlds to pit themselves against both species.

Who knew? Perhaps she might encounter _Ye-Luins'tayak'a_ and her brother. Elysa and Tyrion, in the ooman tongue. Or Spiketail and Talon, though those two had probably dug themselves deep into some remote corner of the galaxy.

Yes. That's what she would do. Tomorrow, she would take the _Man'Daca_ cruiser she had been given in honour of her feats, and go into ooman space. She'd ask Kal'Arak'e if he wanted to come. Assuming he could drag himself away from those students.

* * *

_And thus I return, good people, as do some old favourites..._

_I should warn you that progress might be slow. I'm at uni now, which is slightly more important than school, even if it is the first year :P_

_As a warning for the future, there will be one or two references to things in the original Hades Chronicles that were not written, or even apparently contradict them. This is a side-effect of me being too lazy to finish the original rewrite. Suffice to say the alterations are relatively minor, but might explain a few things a bit better._

_But enough of the ANs. Feed me reviews please?  
_


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